


Twisting The Knife

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Emotional Hurt, Love, M/M, Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 22:16:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7124485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Thorin and his nephews nearly died on the battlefield, Bilbo Baggins hasn’t left their healing rooms. They need him, he won’t leave, he won’t speak, he won’t lose them, not even to Dis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twisting The Knife

 

 

 

Bilbo didn't notice much outside of Thorin and Kili and Fili's rooms. He was vaguely aware of the Company visiting – Bombur brought him meals and Bofur sang songs and told stories about the Blue Mountains. Dwalin and Balin were always in to see Thorin and Balin asked especially how Bilbo was though never seemed to expect an answer. Nori had a tendency to suddenly appear in a corner without warning but with a harmless grin that Bilbo knew was not truly harmless at all. Bifur carved wooden figures that he either left on an available service or pocketed himself.

 

Bilbo was pleased, happy even, with their visits, he was quite sure about that. There'd been a time not so long before when he'd been convinced he'd never see any of them again, that there’d been no way back towards friendship after Thorin had banished him. It had hurt so much, for a variety of reasons. There was a different kind of pain now though, the sort of pain that made everything else, including the Company, feel sort of distant and faint.

 

Bilbo’s gaze slid to Thorin, to how totally he was resting, how pale he looked, how whole he was. He was still breathing and something deep inside of Bilbo shivered in response. Thorin was alive. Thorin had spoken to him before passing into healing sleep; they were treasured words. Would Thorin remember them when he woke? Did one hobbit matter to a King?

 

At the end of one visit, Balin rested a hand briefly on Bilbo’s shoulder, “Times are changing under the Mountain, laddie. We’re glad to have you here.”

 

 

Bilbo did not quite flinch at the contact and concentrated on mixing the liquid that Oin had instructed him in so many weeks ago. Oin was seeing to Kili and Fili, their room adjoining Thorin’s, and while the three of them slept so silently, too silently, there was still much to do to keep them healthy, to aid in their journeys. Bilbo focused on that, to think on anything else, it didn’t feel right at all.

 

The adjoining door was slightly ajar and Bilbo could hear Oin talking to Sigrid, King Bard’s eldest, yes. She was often in the royal healing rooms, wasn’t she? Bilbo knew that he’d glimpsed the flash of a needle some time before as she sewed. He had watched closely when he’d seen her checking the boys’ wounds, his hands clenched, his breath quickening, that he did remember. He should, he needed to...There’d been whispers and...and Sigrid had deft hands and Oin had said she could be taught to be useful. She never stepped foot in Thorin’s room. She did very well. Yes. Sometimes Bilbo remembered to unclench his hands when he spied her.

 

He finished his mixing and approached Thorin. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Thorin look so peaceful but he wasn’t dead, he was healing and sleeping. That was all. Bilbo’s heart thumped hard and he gazed at Thorin with that shiver again. The liquid trickled through his fingers, his thoughts lost to quiet words, to a whisper, and the look that’d been in Thorin’s eyes...

 

Bilbo gripped the bowl tight enough to bruise.

 

*

 

When Bofur burst into Thorin’s room and told Bilbo, with a very peculiar mix of fear and excitement, that Thorin’s sister Dis had just arrived, Bilbo didn’t react. Thorin’s sister...she was Kili and Fili’s mother. He knew little else; Thorin hadn’t spoken of her at all. Kili and Fili had mentioned her now and then, their homesickness for the Blue Mountains visible when they’d recalled the promises they’d made regarding their own safety and how their mother had successfully fought off raiders when her sons had been tiny.

 

“Just a warning, Bilbo,” Bofur told him. “She’ll be here to see Thorin and she won’t want company, come on.”

 

Bilbo stared at Bofur and then towards Thorin uncomprehendingly. Leave? Dis had every right to all three Durins and yet Bilbo felt a painful tearing inside, an anger that made his brows draw down and his lips thin. He was here, taking care of Thorin, things could happen without him, things could-.

 

Bofur grasped his arm firmly, his eyes kind amid his franticness, “He’s not going anywhere, Bilbo. But really, you need to leave.”

 

There was noise coming from next door and Oin was talking to the guards. Bofur must have heard them too because he seemed to take all leave of his senses and hoist Bilbo off the ground, hurrying him out of Thorin’s room, whisking him away down the hallway before Bilbo could react and then unceremoniously dropped down again. He was in a small room, personal chambers of some kind. The door was still open and Bifur was sat on one of the beds, carving away at a piece of wood. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see Bilbo.

  
  


Bilbo immediately made for the open door but Bofur quickly closed it and stood before it. Bifur got to his feet, letting out a string of Khazdul.

 

“I know, Bifur, anyone would think someone had suggested Bilbo’s old clothes had reappeared restored, the way he’s carrying on.”

 

Bilbo stilled and fixed his gaze on the borrowed Dwarven shirt he was wearing. His own Hobbit clothing that he’d worn during the journey to Erebor was unwearable now, though he still hadn’t thrown them out. Dori had kindly produced some clothing for Bilbo to wear, all slightly too large but useful enough. He’d refused to wear shoes though, no matter the dangers. His life had become consumed with more important matters. His buttons could wait.

 

“It’s no slight, Bilbo,” Bofur said, misinterpreting Bilbo’s silence. “You’ve done a fine thing, dedicating all your time to the healing rooms. You’ll need to see the sun again soon though, mark my words.”

 

The sun, it was a startling thought. Sun and green fields and flowers – Bilbo could remember knowing the names of so many, his father teaching him. But were there any fields to be seen near the Mountain? There was so much stone, so much blood spilled on earth. Part of Bilbo ached at memories of gardens and soil, every other part of him pulling towards the door, towards the healing rooms. A Hobbit wasn’t meant solely for stone but what did that matter? It didn’t.

 

“Not that you can leave until the Princess sees you of course.”

 

Bifur gestured with his knife, his eyebrows wiggling, and Bofur muttered something in Khazdul that Bilbo was sure was extremely impolite, if his memories of several of Fili and Kili’s conversations were right. Still, Bofur did explain.

 

“Princess Regent, Dis. Now she’s here, she’ll be taking charge, until Thorin and the boys wake at any rate. And of course she’ll want to see you; someone will have said something about you living at her family’s side.”

 

Bilbo’s thoughts swirled and swerved, trying to make sense of Bofur’s words. Dis, Thorin’s sister, Kili and Fili’s mother. Wouldn’t she just want to see her family? How could anything else matter? Bilbo couldn’t imagine it. And what could he say to someone who’d lost so much already and whose remaining family were currently beyond her reach, healing slowly? He noticed how Bofur’s eyes were darting towards the door and back again and how furiously Bifur was carving. They were behaving very strangely.

 

Bofur coughed and chuckled, “It’s hard to feel secure in your continued living when you’re part of the Company that nearly got what’s left of her family, the royal family, killed.”

 

Bifur added his thoughts with a particularly hard swipe of the knife. Bofur nodded and translated, “Yes, the Princess has never shown love for Thorin’s quest for Erebor. The way the boys tell it, she and Thorin had a mighty fight before we all left.”

 

Before Bofur could reveal any more, there was a heavy knock at the door and it swung open, no answer waited for. A large Dwarf, dressed in armour with several clear gems woven into his beard and a very large sword strapped to his belt, marched in. His gaze quickly fixed on Bilbo.

 

“Dis, Princess Under the Mountain and of the Blue Mountains, sends for Bilbo Baggins.”

 

It didn’t sound like a request. Bofur quickly pressed a hand to Bilbo’s shoulder, nudging him forwards. “On you go then, Bilbo.”

 

Bofur had a very fixed grin on his face and Bifur was staying very silently, his gaze averted. The guard waited, apparently patiently. Bilbo yearned very strongly to be he was back in Thorin’s room, he needed to be there. Oin had said how helpful Bilbo was. He’d need Bilbo’s help, Thorin needed him. Everything hurt again, Bilbo’s fist clenched in his pocket.

 

He followed the Dwarf out of the room and down the hallway. The sooner he did this, the sooner he could return to Thorin. There was that shiver again. The Dwarf led Bilbo into a large hall – had Bilbo been in there before? There were several large tables covered with scrolls, some were unrolled, showing maps and what appeared to be contracts and perhaps histories. There were quills and ink and tankards of what smelled like very strong ale. There were several Dwarves looking through boxes, another couple scrawling down notes, and a low-level of conversation filled the room. The Dwarves glanced lingeringly at Bilbo but then returned to their work.

 

The Dwarf led Bilbo to the front of the room where a group was huddled, poring over several scrolls. One of the Dwarves was making notes and the Dwarf who accompanied Bilbo didn’t interrupt until the last letter had been scratched out.

 

“Bilbo Baggins, Your Highness.”

 

Several of the Dwarves looked up; none of them wore armour though they were all armed. Finally, after what felt like a very protracted moment, one of the Dwarves nodded and gestured . The Dwarf nodded Bilbo over and stayed where he was, Bilbo tried not to fidget impatiently as the group continued to work through a map, their attention absolute on their task. Bilbo’s head was itching, his fingers toying with his pocket. He wondered bitterly if Oin had been permitted to continuing working in the healing rooms. He worried that Thorin’s bandages and wounds weren’t being seen to as regularly as they should. He ought to-.

 

“Mr Baggins.”

 

The Dwarf who had signalled him was stood before him. She wasn’t quite smiling but she wasn’t frowning either. There was something of Thorin and Fili around her eyes – Dis. Bilbo remembered to drop into a bow, his mind truly elsewhere.

 

Dis was smiling a little as she chose to sit down in a large chair, the groups of Dwarves occupied with their scrolls again and seeming to ignore Dis and Bilbo. Dis was looking him up and down thoroughly. Bilbo noticed the pair of swords she had discarded before sitting down, and the dark purple of her clothing, so dark it was almost black. A large section of her long dark-blonde hair was threaded with ribbon, braided and tied back. Both her hair and her beard were laced with metal shapes and frosted beads of various colours and she wore a circlet, made of burnished metal – it didn't look like gold – and evenly studded with jewels. Her gaze was steady and she did not look away.

 

Bilbo’s eyes burned at the sudden painful reminder of Thorin and something moved in Dis’s expression before swiftly disappearing.

 

“You gave away that which wasn’t yours to part with,” Dis stated.

 

The Arkenstone. Bilbo’s shoulders hunched and the pain rolled into a sick tense feeling. He nodded but did not reply. There was a pause as though Dis was waiting for more, before she continued, “An explanation, Mr Baggins.”

 

Surely she’d been told? But Dis’s expression was serious and expectant when Bilbo looked up so he twisted his hands together. He thought about Thorin, hardening against all pleas and sense. The thought of Men and Elves dying, just because Thorin wouldn’t open Erebor’s gates, the thought of Thorin being so changed, so twisted, so blind to how he, his family and friends too could suffer....

 

Still Bilbo did not speak. He knew, though none of the other Dwarves were looking, that he was being very carefully listened to.

 

“I am grateful for my family’s survival,” Dis said into the silence. “I am grateful I have a home to return to and that my people are thriving. The Arkenstone is with the Man in Laketown they are calling their King?”

 

Bard. Yes, Bilbo had given it to Bard, hadn’t he? He’d been glad to see the back of it. He nodded.

 

Dis got to her feet. “Come, Mr Baggins.”

 

Abruptly, collecting her swords, she led the way out of the chamber, the Dwarf who had brought Bilbo there walking behind them, ensuring that Bilbo followed Dis. The pain Bilbo felt was only getting worse, he needed to return to Thorin’s room. Surely Dis wanted her family to survive, to live? But Dis ushered him away into a smaller chamber, it wasn’t a grand suite – there was a table piled with several packs like the Company had taken on the quest and a heap of knives next to them. There were lamps burning and a small fire kindling in a grate. Dis unpinned her cloak.

 

“See we’re not disturbed, Groond.”

 

“Your Highness.”

 

The Dwarf left them alone. Dis checked the fire, stoking it up, before looking at Bilbo once more. She seemed quite comfortable in her circlet, the fire gleaming off it and off the beads in her hair, the metal in her beard. Bilbo felt as though he should not move, watching as Dis left her cloak warming beside the fire. His anger was kindling amongst the pain. What more did she want? He needed to get back to Thorin.

 

“Thank you for ridding Erebor of that ridiculous jewel,” Dis said suddenly, her eyes bright and fierce. “It’s taken too much already.”

 

Bilbo hadn’t expected that. He was sure he looked surprised because Dis smiled – suddenly she looked a lot like Kili. It was startling.

 

“And thank you for not giving it to King Thranduil. I can make the council see sense that it’s with the bargeman King of Dale but if it had been gifted to an Elf...”

 

She shook her head, the hair and beard charms tinkling musically. Bilbo could only nod.

 

 “My fool brother has always had that rock in his heart, even after it destroyed our family. It’s not a legacy I’ll see given to my sons.”

 

That made sense, though Dis’s sparse words in front of the other Dwarves hadn’t been so supportive. She was, Bilbo dimly realised, far more political than Thorin. The very idea of Thorin being diplomatic or politically-minded made Bilbo want to laugh, though he didn’t.

 

“You’ve been banished by my brother,” Dis was not asking a question. “In the throes of dragon fever, no doubt. I will formally rescind the banishment once we’re before the council.”

 

Another blunt surprise that pierced Bilbo’s distance. He was grateful. He nodded almost into a bow.

 

Dis eyed him. “I’ve heard word from Balin and Dwalin, though their opinions always cant, that once you were given to talkative fits about the state of your clothing, particularly concerning pocket handkerchiefs, but that this place and my brother, and what I understand was your first battle, have stolen all words from you.”

 

Bilbo vaguely remembered being so concerned about his appearance and he did feel pangs for such things – for the velvet of an embroidered waistcoat, the rich welcome taste and smell of good steeped tea, the warmth of his study and good Brandybuck pipe weed. But they were all eclipsed by the sight of Fili and Kili and Thorin sleeping and healing, sleeping and healing. How much they’d been covered in blood. Bilbo’s stomach swooped painfully and his gaze skittered towards the door.

 

Dis raised her eyebrows – she was waiting for an answer. Bilbo wondered what to tell her; he wondered how long he would have to stay here before he could leave again for the healing rooms. His anger was growing and his hands were clenching into fists deep in his pockets. It was plain how vital he was to the continual efforts, the important routine that maintained the level of care in the Durins’ healing rooms. Surely Dis had been told all about this; surely she could see how time was wasted here, how Bilbo needed to...

 

Unless she had the same mindset of Thorin when in Erebor, unless she wanted the crown all along. Bilbo had seen what gold could do to Durin blood, to sacrifice her _children_....

 

 “You would not depart for your comfortable home?”

 

Grappling with thoughts of Dis and Thorin and the boys, Bilbo tried to imagine being at home again, reading books and going about his business. He could only shake his head. Dis touched several of the rings that adorned her fingers and then one or two of the charms in her hair.

 

“There are some who’d see your banishment upheld but I believe you can be of use here. My brother called for you, when he believed himself dying?”

 

Thorin had been lying in a tent on the battle field. There’d been so much blood and Thorin had asked for Bilbo to be brought to him. Bilbo had hurried in, his heart pounding, his skin feeling tight all over, his senses overwhelmed by the smells of healing herbs mixed with the gagging smell of blood. He would have been unable to bear such smells before.

 

Bilbo had drawn close and Thorin had spoken quietly, everyone else turned out of the tent. Bilbo had felt Thorin’s breath on his cheek, a much sweeter smell.

 

“Well, Mr Baggins? My brother’s words?”

 

Bilbo felt moored to that moment now, Thorin so close to him, his eyes dimming but full of things that Bilbo had hardly dared dream might exist there. But pain nearly overwhelmed it all, pain at knowing he was losing Thorin. Bilbo had reached, touching a hand to Thorin’s, and had said a few quiet shaky words back. So much pain...

 

Then Oin had arrived and had firmly told Bilbo that unless he wanted to help, he needed to give them room. Bilbo couldn’t remember what he’d done then. Was that when he had started to help? Had he fled? He remembered wanting to disappear, his hand pressed to his pocket.

 

“Mr Baggins.”

 

Dis’s tone was sharp and so like Thorin’s that it brought Bilbo back to the present with an extremely sickening jolt. Dis was stood quite close to him now, her eyes searching him though she was not reaching for her weapons. There was concern in her expression oddly enough. Why was that?

 

He shook his head faintly. Some words...some words were his alone. They were _his._ Especially now that he was unsure why he was being asked for them, how could Dis use them?

 

Dis looked at him for a long moment but did not call for any guards or pick up her sword. “You’ve tended my sons as well as my brother. My thanks.”

 

Her words were simple, innocuous, but Bilbo was aware of their weight, of their potential. He only nodded warily back. Who was seeing to Thorin, if Oin was focusing on Fili and Kili while Sigrid might be in Dale now, assisting her father? Worry and pain were digging under his skin, his breathing wasn’t quite right but Bilbo was determined to manage. He was needed, now more than ever.

 

“We will talk again soon, Mr Baggins,” Dis told him. “As one of the few that tends my family, I will rely on you for regular reports on their condition. I have a Mountain to run.”

 

Yes, yes, that made sense. According to Balin, the Dwarves needed a figurehead, someone to rally round and not everyone would rally to Dain. Those who had never called the Iron Hills home would always seek a Durin first, as it should be. Yes. But was this the right Durin? Were Dwarves from the Blue Hills moving now on Dis’s orders, maybe to ensure no other Durin lived but her? Was that why Bilbo had been called for, why Oin might not be there either?

 

“You may leave.”

 

Dis sounded amused for some reason and Bilbo was aware of a faint impression of concern in her gaze but he was busy bowing and leaving, his mind pinned firmly to the royal healing rooms, his heart racing to be there, to see what had been done. The journey seemed to take too long but no, there was Oin, checking Thorin’s heartbeat, muttering to himself. Bilbo was not greatly patient but Oin was important, he was going to help them live. And they lived, they were fine. Dis’s people had not gotten to them yet.

 

The smell that permeated the healing rooms was such a relief that Bilbo felt dizzy. He could hear Sigrid, yes, there she was. Bilbo’s hands twitched as he spied Sigrid through the adjoining door, humming softly as she sewed. Fili and Kili were still there, still resting, still silent. And Thorin was unmoving but he was there, he was breathing still.

 

Bilbo pressed a hand to his pocket. Thorin and Fili and Kili were breathing and they were living. Dis wasn’t going to change that. Bilbo’s worry and anger was like a fist shaking at the thought of anything happening, anything hurting Thorin and the boys even more. They were too important to lose, to the Mountain, to Bilbo. They were precious.

 

_-the end_

 


End file.
